Falling
by forestofmyown
Summary: Leon gets into a bit of a bind when he is caught after hours at the Museum of Natural History, but ends up unexpectedly getting a job there. He finds that he bears a striking resemblance to a long dead body guard of Ahkmenrah's—not just in looks, but in personality and, especially, devotion. OC/Ahkmenrah
1. Chapter 1

**Written for the Night at the Museum Big Bang. Trigger Warnings-Mentions of: suicidal thoughts/tendencies, murder, claustrophobia, suffocation, body decay, slight homophobia, some violence (over the course of the story, not in this exact chapter).**

* * *

I've been falling for a long time. Maybe my whole life. Maybe forever. Is there a difference? There isn't anything. Just falling. Just the nothingness.

And then, suddenly, there's more.

There's an awareness of purpose. A mission. Direction. Motivation. Meaning.

I grasp onto it; it's all there is to grasp on to. Everything is moving, spinning, weightless and motion and dark and light and without sound, without existence, without life, void. It's terrifying and empty and nothingness. I feel so alone. I'll do anything to rid myself of that fear, that ache, that complete and utter existence as nothing but lack. Whose purpose, what purpose—these questions don't matter. Give it to me. Fill me. Don't let me stay alone.

It's moving me in a certain direction, pushing me, and I go without question. After all, what else is there? Send me. Let me fulfill this purpose. That, I have now. It's something. It's inside me. I didn't feel alive without it. I do now. I must exist. I must fulfill.

Guard. Protect. Obey. Serve.

Purpose.

I have nothing else in the void. What is this purpose? Who or what must I protect? Explain. Tell me. Show me. I will do it. Please. Please.

I float on, pushed, shown.

The light grows brighter, the dark swirls in it, is devoured by it, and with a load groan and the sound of stone scratching against stone, a door swings open, and I step through it.


	2. Chapter 2

Gage, Mark, and Elle scamper across the alley and press themselves flush against the wall. Elle giggles. Doing a double check, I stroll casually along the same route they took, looking straight ahead, gaze never wavering. Mark's face goes wide in panic and he starts ushering me along in hushed whispers. I roll my eyes.

"This is why you have a rap sheet and I don't," I mutter to him under by breath as I continue past, for all the world like I'm right where I belong. That's the idea. If you don't question yourself, most people won't question you, either. Confidence is key.

Plus, there aren't any cameras here, and not a patrol car for miles. What are they sneaking around for? Fun?

Yes, apparently, because they Mission Impossible their way behind me and up to the loading ramp. They all look ridiculous, and Elle can't stop giggling. Even Gage is grinning like a fool. Mark, the only one who's ever been caught and punished, is the only one out of them that is taking this seriously. Kid's jumpier than a rabbit.

Of course, Gage and Elle are spoiled, white, trust fund babies, so what do they have to worry about? If we get caught, Mark and I are the only ones in trouble.

How did I let myself get talked into this?

Oh, right; because I'm a sap. Can't let all my friends ruin their lives _alone_ , now can I? It doesn't matter they we're not here to steal anything—it's a museum full of priceless artifacts. The police aren't going to care that there's a rumor the place is haunted and we just wanted to check it out. I'm the only one of us that thinks sometimes, I mean it.

And shouldn't a museum full of this much valuable stuff have better security?

Something isn't right, and my stomach is twisting with nerves and distrust. Never the less, I lead the group, checking ahead. The night is cool, almost chilly, with the smell of rain in the air, hinting to an oncoming storm; not unusual for October.

Stopping around the loading dock, I hold up my hand and ask quietly, "Phone's silenced?"

They all nod. I frown and wait. With rolling eyes, they all pull out their phones to double check, and I watch as Gage tries to turn his volume off inconspicuously.

We're gonna get arrested.

Taking my eyes off my friends, I take in the alleyway. There are bars on the inside of the windows, it looks like. The lights are on. But as far as we've been able to tell, they always are. The back door, thankfully, is a simple lock. With all the new tech upgrades in this place, I was worried about keycards or something. This, I can pick. Whether it sets off a silent alarm, though . . .

Why why why am I doing this?

Five minutes, in and out. Keep watch. Keep your friends out of jail. That's it. That's all.

I crouch down in front of the door and pull out my pick kit.

"You were right, Leon," Gage says, leaning against the nearest wall. "This is way better than my plan."

"A brick to the front doors isn't a plan, Gage," I reply. "It's vandalism, and would probably have gotten us less time, now that I think about it."

"You worry too much."

The lock clicks.

"If that were true, I wouldn't be here right now."

"Please. You're here because you're more worried about us than yourself," Elle says sing-songly. It's she who moves to pull the door open when I step away.

"Gloves!" I hiss at her. Her hand stops, hovering over the handle, her bare skin a pale spot in the dark. Giggling nervously again, she stuffs them in her pockets, pulls out her gloves, and slides them on. Mark, gloves already on, opens the door instead. With a quick glance at Gage to make sure he's got his gloves on, too, I slip around Mark and head inside first.

It looks like some kind of storage room, and it leads into what is obviously the security guard's office space. Or, the former guard's office space; the position is currently unoccupied—I checked when I canvased the place during the day, posing as a regular visitor. Probably overkill, but if I'm going to break the law, I'm gonna cover my bases first.

"Close the door," I whisper behind me. "And stay close."

"You want us to hold hands and use the buddy system while we're at it?" Gage snickers.

"Are you kidding?" Mark snaps. "If the police show up, freaking scatter—all different directions. They can't chase us all."

"Please. It's just a dirty old museum," Elle scoffs.

I press my eyes shut and sigh. Let her keep thinking that. Don't point out the priceless artifacts—the last thing I want is to give any of them any more foolish ideas.

"And I was talking about getting lost, man, not the cops." Gage gives Mark a shove, who moves to shove back, but I snap, frighteningly abrupt in the silence, and they both back off.

"Stay close," I repeat, leading them out into the museum proper.

There's grumbling, but they follow. Inside, we're immediately met with sound. Voices echo down the halls, footsteps all around, and I freeze, thinking—for a moment—that we'd gotten the time all wrong and the museum is still open. But it's well past midnight.

"What the—?" Mark takes a few steps forward, gazing down the well lit hallway. "Somebody having a party in here, or what?"

"We need to go." I start backing up, grabbing Mark's arm as I pass him.

"But we haven't even seen anything!" Gage whines.

Elle looks hesitant. "That sounds like a lot of people."

"Obviously there's some kind of museum thing tonight we didn't know about," I spew, trying to get the others to follow me back to the door. "Like a board meeting or redecorating or something. Let's get out of here before we get caught."

"What if it's the ghosts?" Elle asks, stepping farther forward.

"Does that sound like ghosts to you?" Mark waves his hand towards the noise, but his face is't convincing.

"I don't know," Elle snaps right back, "I've never heard a ghost before—that's why we came!"

"Guys, there aren't any ghosts. Let's just go."

"Why don't we take a walk down the hall, peak in a bit, see what's going on?" Gage asks. "No one will see us. Then, when we prove it's not ghosts, we can go."

Elle nods enthusiastically, and Mark deflates. When the two start heading towards the sounds, he follows. Growling in frustration, I skip ahead of them to take the lead again, forcing the others to slow down behind me. When we reach the end of the hall, I poke my head around the corner.

There are shadows moving around the entrances to some of the exhibits.

I gulp. "Movement."

"What?" Elle whispers, leaning over my shoulder. "Let me see."

"I wanna see, too," Gage grumbles.

I go to tell them to stop pushing and shut up, but the words never make it out.

A man in a blue uniform has just rounded the corning—and he's carrying a rifle.

"It's a guard," I hiss frantically. "Move back, move back!"

Gage and Elle scramble off me, tripping over each other in a tangle of body parts, and make a heck of a racket.

"I thought you said there wasn't a night guard!" Mark's voice is too high; we're making too much noise.

"Obviously I was misinformed, now go!" I'm pushing anyone I can get a hand on, shoving them back down the hall towards the door, my mind screaming _he's got a freaking rifle, who gives a museum guard a gun!? I've got to get them out of here before we get shot!_

Another guard appears, dressed in grey, gun over his shoulder, at the other end of the hall. My friends all start to skip to a stop, but I'm egging them on—pushing, shoving, pulling—crying, "The door—keep going, get to the door, go!"

"HE DOESN'T HAVE A FACE!" Elle screams.

She's right. There's pale white blankness beneath the hat perched atop the guard's head. Just nothing.

"GO!" I keep telling them, and they go, skidding across the floor towards the door halfway between us and the grey guard. Behind us, the one in blue has rounded the corner. Neither seems in a hurry, striding mechanically towards us, blocking us in, and my heart is racing, I want to throw up, this one doesn't have a face either, what is happening run run run RUN!

They start to lower their guns.

Mark is through the door first, with Gage practically on top of him, and I'm shoving Elle through when I hear the first shot ring out.

Instinctively, I slam the door behind her, cutting off any shots their way, and hit the floor.

I'm dead, heaven help me I'm dead, I'm gonna get shot by slenderman knock-offs this is it I hope they got out please tell me nothing is waiting for them in that room and they're safe—

"No no NO!" A loud, angry shout bounces around the hall, and I move my head just enough to see a roundish man—the curator, McPhee I think he's called—come dashing in, obviously winded, and pointing angrily at the two faceless guards. "No shooting! I've told a-all of you again a-and again, no s-shooting!"

He stops, doubling over to gasp for breath, and the guards lower both their guns and there heads, looking rather ashamed of themselves.

My pounding heart hasn't slowed in the slightest. I can barely breathe. I think I might throw up on the floor right in front of my face.

McPhee looks up—and spots me.

"Wha—who are you? What are you doing there?"

"Ah—" It's hard to speak, can't breathe. "I-I almost got shot."

The statement is a wheeze. McPhee glances between the two guards, who, having looked up at me, put their heads down again.

"You see?" McPhee tells them, wagging a finger again. "And that is why no shooting! Go, both of you! Give your guns to Teddy—and you don't get them back the rest of the night, either of you! Go!"

Dejected, they walk away.

I manage to push myself up against the door and take a deep breath.

"Right." McPhee twists his hands awkwardly. "Well, sorry about that. Wait, I mean—answer my questions! Yeah, who are you then? And why are you in my museum?"

My mind just reels for a minute, uncomprehending, unable to think.

McPhee opens his mouth, closes it, then nods. "I, uh, suppose you probably need a moment. Sorry. Take—just take a breather, huh?"

I nod back, trying to get myself under control.

Not dead. Not shot. Ghosts apparently controllable. McPhee unworried. Still trespassing. Prison still possible.

Shakily, I manage to stand. McPhee looks pleased as this, and I realize just what kind of a man he is—and, thus, my advantage.

"I'm here to apply for the night guard position," I say matter of factly. It comes out sure and steady, two things I do not feel at all.

"You are?" He stares at me in confusion. "Well, you should do that during normal business hours, shouldn't you? How'd you even get in here?"

"The back door was open," I tell him with a pointed look.

"Was it?" He narrows his eyes at me, then throws up his hand and stomps his foot in a tantrum "Oh, I knew I was rubbish at this! Can't even remember the doors, then the civil war soldiers are running around shooting things, the lion tries to eat me, the Neanderthals have refused to behave since Tilly had to go back to England, and I can only beg Teddy and Ahk to do so much. Oh."

McPhee leans against the wall looking very, very tired. I have no idea what's going on.

"I didn't want to hire a new guard," he says after a few quiet moments. "Tilly isn't supposed to be gone long, seems like a waste of resources and all that . . . but I just . . . I can't do this. I can't keep things in line at night and during the day both! I haven't slept properly in weeks!"

He does look rather exhausted. And frantic. Oh no—I think he's seriously going to hire me.

Sighing, he motions towards where he entered. "Alright then, come on. I best go ahead and show you the ropes, as they call it."

He laughs mockingly. I don't move.

He frowns. "How old are you, anyway?"

My mouth feels dry, so I wiggle my tongue around before replying. "Twenty-one."

"Bit young for this line of work." But he shrugs. "That's good, though. You'll need all that 'youthful vigor' and whatnot, with how things are here."

"And just . . . how are things here, if I might ask?"

He laughs again, a clipped, humorless laugh. "Lively."


	3. Chapter 3

Stepping through the doorway, I place my feet on solid stone. It is so achingly familiar, and yet I feel as though I've never felt something so sweet. Existence was the fall for so, so long. And now it isn't. Now, there is no falling.

I do not know how not to fall. So, instead of falling through the nothingness as before, I am forced to fall to the hard floor. It sends pain through me, but I laugh. It is so good. Pain is good. Pain is something, after all. Something besides nothing.

I am no longer nothing, and it is glorious.

There is shouting. Sound. Sound is amazing.

There is touch. I think I am being moved. I feel like I am flouting again, like in the fall, and that snaps me out of my stupor. I thrash about until I am free, until I am unmoving, and I open my eyes to see the new world around me. It isn't the shadows and light and twisting vortex of the nothing, the void, the fall. It is stone and carvings and people and moonlight, dust and sand and sky. I am surrounded, but they are bowing, silent, and I barely heed them.

The sky is bright, twinkling with stars. It is beautiful.

I stand and stare up, marveling. More people arrive, led by those in similar dress to the ones bowed around me. There are four, and they hold themselves proudly, adorned in gold and precious stones. Their faces are fleetingly familiar—all but one.

One face is more beautiful than the glorious sky, than the full, shining moon. It brings me to my knees before it. The people are gasping, chattering. The man with the staff speaks with authority, but I cannot understand his language. The beautiful one stares down at me, curious, and I know that feeling that drew me here—the feeling of purpose—was meant for this young man. It is his existence that pulled me from the void. It is because of him that I am free.

So it is for him that I now exist.

It is for him that I will live.


	4. Chapter 4

Committing a B & E, almost getting shot, lying my way out of getting arrested, discovering magic is real, and being hired for a new job all in one night is as good a grounds as any to start contemplating my existence. I begin to feel small, insignificant in the big scheme of the universe, and yet, at the same time, important to be privy to such secrets and adventure. Life is suddenly much more complicated than I'd ever imagined, and I haven't yet decided if this is glorious or daunting.

It's certainly overwhelming. And confusing. And intimidating.

And amazing.

"Are you listening to me?" McPhee asks, looking annoyed.

I nod, staring up at the golden slab hung on the stone wall decorated with Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs. "Magic tablet. Powered by the moon. Take outside every so often to recharge the batteries. Brings museum exhibits to life."

It doesn't feel like I'm dreaming. I didn't hit my head at any point that I can remember. I was definitely passed by a skeletal T-Rex in the hallway and an Easter Island head called me Dum-Dum. There are two giant jackal statues watching us from the entrance with spears. I might could possibly still throw up.

Of course I'm listening. Magic is real, and I've just been thrown into it. I don't want to miss a word.

"Right. Good, good." He doesn't actually look pleased. I think he feels just as awkward as I do about now. "Well, as the night guard, you come in about an hour before the tablet starts all it's glowing and life giving, which happens at sundown, and you stick around until sunrise when everything goes back to being not-alive and you make sure everything's in its proper place before leaving _on top_ of usual night guard stuff like making sure nothing gets stolen, there aren't any loiterers or vandals or breaks ins—you know. Oh, and don't let anything leave the museum, as they turn to dust as sunrise if they aren't in the building. Don't know why."

He stares off, then shakes his head and shrugs. "If you need any help, Teddy Roosevelt is out front and usually rides around with Sacagawea checking on things, and Pharaoh Ahkmenrah owns the tablet so you can ask him any questions you might have. The previous night guard, Tilly, transferred here from the British Museum and she's back home for a bit—I think I mentioned that—but hopefully it'll only be a few more weeks before we can get her back. One of the Neanderthals is in love with her, so they're being completely unruly, you'll have to keep an eye out for them."

He claps his hands, looking around. "Let's see, what else . . . ah, lock up the African room, or the lions will try to, um, well, eat you, you know, and the miniatures are fairly well behaved but I suggest locking up the Mayans, too, as they shoot paralyzing darts. The Easter Island head likes gum, but don't give him too much—oh, there's just too many things to remember. Larry wrote most of it down for me, I'll look for it later and get you the instructions. Really, if anyone's too rambunctious, Ahkmenrah can control them with the tablet, so there you go."

I narrow my eyes, finally turning to him. "That . . . that seems wrong. Controlling someone else. Even if they are just exhibits during the day, they are alive and their own people at night, right? Taking away their will is just . . ."

I shake my head, scowling, and McPhee "umms" for a moment as footsteps echo in the room; someone has joined us.

"It's only had to be done once, but I'm afraid it was necessary," the new arrival says, his voice serious. I can only assume he's the aforementioned Pharaoh, as he's done up in some fancy threads with a big hat, and he certainly looks the part.

He's also sporting a belly window that shows off a flat stomach, and a fine face. I have to swallow at the sight of him. Hard.

That is most definitely the jawline of a king. Dang.

What a beautiful human being.

. . . is he a human being? Am I checking out a wax figure or something? Aw, heck, who cares? I can look.

He's a mummy, I remember. So I'm checking out a dead guy, then. Please stop thinking.

"There was a mass break out of the exhibits, and it was almost sunrise," he continues, staring ahead at the tablet, apparently oblivious to my scrutiny. "I was forced to command them all to return, or lose them to the light."

"Maybe you guys should have everyone sign consent forms or something." McPhee and the Pharaoh both stare at me, and I fidget. "Like, who gives permission to be controlled under emergency circumstances, and who'd rather take their chances then lose their agency. Some might prefer to be left to their fate, so long as they are the ones who decide."

The Pharaoh's eyes soften, and he smiles slowly. Then, suddenly, his face falls, and he stares at me in confusion.

McPhee scoffs. "I'm the one that has to explain those losses, you know! Some of these exhibits are very, very expensive and irreplaceable!"

"They didn't ask to be brought to life in your museum like caged animals," I snap back. "Just because the museum owns them doesn't mean you get to dictate how they live and die with the existence they've been given!"

He stiffens, looking abashed.

The Pharaoh is still staring, and I don't think he's following the conversation anymore.

"You okay?" I ask.

"Mau?"

"What?"

"You—who are you?"

"Oh, right." McPhee pats me on the shoulder very quickly before withdrawing his hand—what, why?—and says, "He's here to take over as the night guard while Tilly's away, isn't that great?"

McPhee bounces on his heels and we both wait.

"So, you're not—?"

"Not what?"

"A new exhibit, or—"

"No." McPhee interrupts, waving him off. "He's a person, just like me. . . . aren't you?"

He suddenly shoots me a look, and I nod. "Born in Oklahoma twenty years ago."

The Pharaoh blinks several times, then shakes his head, letting out a rather loud breath. "I apologize. It's just—it's rather amazing, really. You look just like someone I knew, back when I was alive. It was startling."

Now that is interesting. "Really?"

"Yes. He was my personal guard . . . and a good friend." The Pharaoh's smile is strained. Crap, I've brought up a painful subject—what with me apparently looking like his dead friend. Way to make a good first impression.

"You'll have to tell me about him some time." That's probably not the best thing to say, but I am curious.

He doesn't seem to mind, and nods. "Of course. We shall have plenty of time once you are used to your duties."

I glance over at McPhee, who's looking rather pleased with himself. "Technically, I haven't even filled out an application."

His mouth opens, closes, and then sputters for a moment, before he tosses his hands aimlessly. "Well I practically have to hire you, don't I? You already saw the Civil War soldier mucking about before I told you all of this magic stuff! So yes, you're hired. If you want the job, which I know is probably more than you were expecting from a museum position . . ."

He trails off, and then they both stare at me expectantly; McPhee, with annoyance masking worry, and the Pharaoh, with hope. The expression makes him look younger, more bashful. The weight of his earlier story had shown in his features. The burden of ruling, I suppose that was. Responsibility.

That's what I'll have over all the lives here if I take this job.

Yeah, still might throw up.

But there's no way I'm walking away from something as amazing as this without giving it a shot.

"Gentlemen, take me through it again. There's a lot of lives at stake here, I can't risk messing up."

McPhee literally doubles over, giving a breathy "oh thank goodness" as the Pharaoh eyes him with a smirk, then turns that grin on me. "Welcome to the Museum of Natural History, Night Guardian. I am Ahkmenrah, fourth king of the fourth king, ruler of the lands of my fathers."

Unsure what the protocol is for introducing oneself to a Pharaoh, I dip my head in a sort-of bow. "Leon Ward, senior at Hunter College."

"Now that that's settled," McPhee claps his hands, "let's get you introduced to the others, shall we?"

Things go quickly after that. McPhee points out exhibits, every once in a while I shake hands, and in general everyone ignores me to do their own thing, which, I take it, is the norm around here. Ahkmenrah excuses himself after a bit (gaze lingering on me a bit longer than is comfortable, but the poor guy is probably thinking about his dead friend again, I'm not gonna get on to him about it) somehow a monkey appears on McPhee's shoulder and he doesn't seem to notice, petting the thing absentmindedly as he talks, and I have to point the creature out for him to finally acknowledge that, hey, there's a monkey (his name is Dexter). The miniatures are very cool, the western and Roman leaders being talkative but rather suspicious, pestering me with odd questions that I manage to avoid answering as we continue on.

The "Teddy" that McPhee kept mentioning turns out to be President Theodore Roosevelt, complete with Texas the horse. He dismounts and gives me a hardy smack on the back in welcome, all smiles.

"Good to have you, boy, good to have you. Nice to see some more young blood around here."

He turns to give his lady friend a hand down off the horse, as well, and she smiles at me, too. "Sacagawea."

"Leon Ward," I tell them both.

"Well, I'll just leave you with Teddy and Sac here to talk. I'm sure you and her have a lot in common."

We both turn and give him confused looks.

"Why?"

He smiles like he doesn't get why we don't get it. "Because you—you know, you're both Native Americans."

I cock a brow. "I'm French and Cherokee."

"I'm Lemhi Shoshone." Sacagawea clarifies.

"I was born in 1997 and was raised by white people."

"I've lived in a glass display most of my life."

McPhee's eyes dart between us. "Right. Sorry. Okay, then. I'm just gonna . . . draw up the paperwork and all that, get, ah, get you on board. Come see me later to dot the i's and cross the t's."

Nodding awkwardly, he heads off to his office.

Swallowing with some difficulty, I turn back to Theodore Roosevelt and Sacagawea. "I large, jade cat of some kind just walked past me."

President Roosevelt smiles with sympathy. "You'll get used to it, son."

"And the T-Rex is friendly?"

"Like an overly energetic puppy," he says.

"Do you need to sit down?" Sacagawea asks.

I nod.

* * *

Despite only being in this situation because I lied to save my own hide, I'm taking this new job very seriously. I stay until sunrise, meeting everyone, figuring out where things go, getting a feel for the layout and the routine, seeing what it's like for all the exhibits to freeze as the sun comes up.

It's . . . disturbing. My chest feels tight, an ache inside me. I stand there, staring at Theodore Roosevelt's wax figure, flooded with emotions I can't express; anger and sadness mostly. It seems so unfair. But, at least, they have the night.

I sign the paperwork. McPhee tries to hide his excitement at not having to come in tonight because I'm going to (he fails). After I'm dismissed, I don't leave. I just . . . wander. Looking at them all. It's so quiet, feels so empty despite them all still being there. Everything is so different from how it was when the sun was down. I feel sick again.

Trudging sluggishly down the front steps after I convince myself it's time to go, I pull out my phone and turn the volume back up, checking my messages. Unsurprisingly, I'm flooded with texts and voice mails, missed calls and threats to dial the police and panicked, hastily typed pleas for me to not be dead. It makes me smile.

I call Mark first. He sounds like he's half crying when he answers, telling me how glad he is that I'm okay, cursing me for not calling sooner, demanding to know what happened.

I don't even know how to explain—if I _can_ explain. So, in brief, I give him a half truth, which I later reiterate to Gage and Elle: the ghostly guards didn't shoot me, I was saved by the curator, now that I know the museum's secret I've been recruited to the staff and can't tell them anymore. They aren't happy, but considering breaking in had been Gage's idea and I had been vocally against it from the start, I manage to keep them from pestering me too much for answers.

I have to outline some rules while I'm at it. No, they can't visit me while I'm at work (I love my friends, but I'm not gonna trust anybody with all those lives at this point). No, I won't tell them any more about what happened to me. No, I don't need them to help rescue me from my new job, I'm not being enslaved or blackmailed or tortured. No, they can't tell anyone what happened to me (if they want to fan the flames of the rumors the place is haunted and add that the ghosts are violent and shouldn't be messed with, more power to them).

By the time all three conversations are done, I'm exhausted. And I've still got class later this morning. Nursing a budding headache, I head home to hopefully get a nap in. I'm most definitely sleeping the rest of the day once I get out (provided there's no homework).

As I walk, my brain continues to try and reel stutteringly over my exhaustion.

I'm the night guard at a magical museum where the exhibits come to life after dark. I broke into said museum and almost got shot. I'm lying to my friends. I haven't eaten all night. Magic is real.

Making a detour, I buy a small notebook and start jotting down everything I can remember about the museum, the exhibits, my responsibilities, and the routine. Google and the library will certainly be becoming my new best friends.

I take my job very seriously.


	5. Chapter 5

The first few days of my new existence are confusing. I want nothing more than to serve the Beautiful One, and try to follow him. This I am quickly forbidden from. It frustrates me to no end, and my anger seems to cross the language barrier easily enough.

Constantly I am surrounded by priests. They wash me, dress me in new clothing, escort me to a room which I assume is now my own, and begin instructing me in their language. Grudgingly, I immerse myself in the study, knowing it is key to conveying my desires.

I want to be back with the Beautiful One.

I see him fleetingly. I am brought to visit he and the others who were with him, and they come to visit me at times. They are important, this is obvious. I am also important; I don't know why. I just want to serve him. I try every chance I get, but there is so little that isn't already done for him by other servants. My consolation is that my devotion seems to have been taken notice of, and I am brought to him more often, taught his specific needs, how to serve him properly.

His name is Ahkmenrah. He is second son to the Pharaoh Merenkahre, only child of Queen Shepseheret, younger brother to the heir Kahmunrah.

Kahmunrah seems to have taken a keen interest in me, as well. He visits more often than I'd like, often leaving frustrated when our communication falls flat due to my lack of fluency. He seems to be under the impression I should belong to him, though—that much I have gathered. I do not. I belong to the Beautiful One, to Ahkmenrah. Kahmunrah does not bother me, really, nor does his possessiveness, but I will not budge on this. I will serve Ahkmenrah. It is my goal, why I continue to study.

It is also why I find myself on my back, staring at the spinning ceiling, gasping for air as my chest burns and head aches. I have been knocked flat, and it is not the first time.

I am nothing compared to Ahkmenrah's guards. They try to train me, but they have a lifetime of skill and I, apparently, have nothing. I _am_ nothing in comparison. It is more frustration for me. What can I do for Ahkmenrah that these others cannot do better? What have I to offer to accomplish my dream, to fulfill my purpose? To be allowed at his side?

The answer to this turns out to be, apparently, simply saying so. I came through a special gateway. I am a gift from the gods to them. If my purpose is to serve the fair Ahkmenrah, then I will not be denied. It is the will of the gods.

I thank these gods that have sent me. I praise them with my whole being.

Once my studies have been deemed satisfactory, I am given a position as one of Ahkmenrah's guards. I must continue to see the priests and scholars for my education, the true guards for more training, but otherwise, I am free to do as I have wished from the start. I am at Ahkmenrah's side always.

I worry, at first, that this is not what he wants, and keep my distance as a proper guard should. But he is curious about me, to my pleasure, and gives me great leeway with my behavior. I intrigue and amuse him, and his smile is greater than anything in this world or the next, of that I am certain.

I tell his family so. They are pleased—all except Kahmunrah. A celebration is held to tell the people how the Pharaoh's son is blessed by the messenger of the gods.

It is Ahkmenrah himself who gives me my name. It comes out of nowhere one day, while he has been sitting quietly, apparently admiring my restless behavior.

He names me Mau.


	6. Chapter 6

Jedediah and Octavius still don't like me. Ahkmenrah, who has taken to wandering the museum with me while I get my bearings, answering any questions I need, says it's not personal; the museum has had it's share of traitorous night guards, and even a previous one, called Larry, who was good, got another job, so the two just seem to be taking my 'temporary' position to heart, determined not to get friendly.

Theodore, Sacagawea, and Ahkmenrah himself seem to have no such hang ups. They are friendly and helpful, and though the happy couple prefers to venture off to spend time together, they never begrudge me my intrusions to get assistance. Theodore seems to posses the most comprehensive knowledge of the museum and it's workings, as he's been around quite a while and has had free roam. Apparently, Sacagawea and Ahkmenrah both only found their freedom within the last decade, and Ahkmenrah's just come back from being on loan in London (which was how they got Tilly the night guard, apparently), so they don't always have the answers Theodore does.

McPhee was right about the Neanderthals; they are just determined to be contrary. Thankfully, their mischief is mostly nonviolent and childish, so while they do provide the most work during the nights, they aren't terribly troublesome, and things are mostly uneventful during my first few days. I spend most of my time, when not on rounds, using the computer at the front desk to continue my research into my charges. This is met with all around approval by everyone who sees me, and I'm mostly left alone.

Sometimes Ahkmenrah sits with me, even when my research is boring. We talk, and sometimes we goof off, and sometimes we look up things for him because he seems to be a very curious person, but other times he just stares at me, and I pretend I don't notice.

I hate that I make him miss his friend. There isn't much I can do about it, though. It's my face.

Today is one of those days. Thankfully, Jedediah and Octavius come rolling in, driving their RC truck, to serve as a wonderful distraction.

"Oi, Braidy, we need battery replacement, pronto!"

"Sure thing." Sliding open the desk drawer, I pull out the battery charger, pick out the fully charged ones, and wait for the two to slip out of the truck so I can flip it over and pop open the battery pack. The dying ones go in the charger, which gets plugged in, and the charged set go in the truck. Then I set it back down so the pair can climb back in. Rexie is waiting by the stairs expectantly.

"Thank you, Vicarius." Octavius dips his head respectfully.

"You're welcome, Imperator." I've learned to roll with the nicknames from these guys. At least Octavius' is a title—even if it is "Substitute." Jedediah just seems to have defined me by my hairstyle—which he, naturally, disapproves of ("Ain't no man needs that long o' hair! Got that one big ol' braid, and it don't matter if the sides of yer head are shaved, you look like a Mary! All them piercings in yer ears and face don't help! Get a haircut, boy!"—a suggestion to which Ahkmenrah balked at before catching himself; apparently, it isn't just a face I share with his friend, which I find a very odd coincidence).

Octavius always seems pleased with the effort I've put in to using his proper title (I've got it wrong a few times, though he doesn't correct me himself usually, but I'm pretty sure I got it right this time).

"Yeah, thanks Big Braid. We're off to the dioramas."

Octavius waves as he climbs in passenger side. Jedediah shakes his head at him before hopping into the driver's seat through the open window.

"Stop being so friendly with the new guy." I hear him command the other as they start the vehicle.

"You're being ridiculous, Jedediah. Leon has been nothing but gracious since his arrival."

"Traitor." His voice just sounds miffed, petulant. "Suck up. Like him so much, why don't you go hang out with him instead? You and yer new best pal . . ."

"He's not—Jedediah please, you're absurd."

Their voices trail away as the truck skids across the floor and then vanishes. I stare after them, brow furrowed.

"Is something wrong?" Ahkmenrah asks, apparently catching my expression. "Did Jed offend you, because—"

I shrug, cutting him off.

"Nah. It's just . . . " Scratching the back of my head, I take a deep breath, and turn to him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," he replies.

"And if it ain't none of my business, you'll tell me, right?"

Now his brow furrows. "Um, I suppose so?"

Jerking a thumb back over my shoulder after the vanished miniatures, I ask, "Are they . . . together?"

Ahkmenrah's eyes flick back and forth between mine in a worried expression. His reply is slow, like he's afraid one of the two of us is missing something. "Currently, yes. I would have thought that was rather obvious."

I roll my eyes. "Not, like—of course that's obvious. I meant, like Theodore and Sacagawea. A couple, romantically."

"Oh." Ahkmenrah's expression turns thoughtful and his gaze moves to where I was pointing. "I don't think so, no. Though I have wondered."

"Yeah?" I cock a brow at him, and he continues to stare, frown hitching.

"Such a relationship would have been unacceptable in both of their time periods—punishable by death, even. Though if Octavius considers Jedidiah of lower birth, I suppose it would have been legal—except that Octavius is a military man, so no. I wonder if they need to talk about it, or if they really are just friends. They have an amazing friendship, and that's brilliant, but if it's some ingrained homophobia keeping their relationship from changing, I would hate that for them."

Nodding, I go back to looking after them as well, despite the two being long gone. "So that's all cool with you then?"

"Hm? Being gay, you mean?" He finally seems to snap out of his trance and look at me, and I nod.

"There isn't much known about your peoples views on such things back in the day." I keep it nonchalant, intellectual, and he perks right up.

"I'm afraid I was both sheltered and died rather young, so it wasn't something I saw personally, but there were no laws against it, of that I'm certain. I have absolutely no problems with it, personally. It's hard to see why anyone would anymore."

He says this like it's no big deal, and I swallow a hard lump in my throat as discreetly as possible. "Uh-hm."

He shoots me a look. "Do you?"

I shake my head, clearing my throat, and try to veer away from talking about me as quickly as possible. "No. Do you know of anyone in the museum that would give them a hard time about it if things changed?"

"I don't think so. What with all of us being animated by magic and over half the exhibits being wax, plastic, or stuffed—not to mention out of our times—everyone is rather accepting. And adaptable. We must be, after all."

"Good." I manage. "I don't tolerate that kinda thing."

Ahkmenrah smiles. "You don't tolerate intolerance?"

I have to crack a grin myself at that. "Shut up. Come on, it's almost sunrise; let's get you tucked in."

Without waiting for a response I stride off, and the swish of Ahkmenrah's shendyt and cape tells me he's following. It's a comforting sound, rhythmic and soft, with the tap of his sandals on the smooth floor and the slight jingle of his beaded weskh and belt. I could grow used to it. I _am_ growing used to it.

Technically, I don't have to go with Ahkmenrah to get him back into his sarcophagus. He's been doing it for quite a while without any help, after all. But I like the company, and don't feel like just sending him off in the lobby as usual tonight.

"Do the jackals have names?" I ask as we walk passed them. I wave at both, and they incline their heads back.

Ahkmenrah frowns. "No. You'd think after so long, I would have named them. I suppose I don't hardly notice them most of the time."

"Sign of a good body guard is not being noticed, right?" I think I heard that in a movie once.

He smirks, removing his Deshret and placing it in the proper display. It's the first time I've seen him without it; his hair is short and dark, and looks soft. "Mau seemed to take the opposite approach to his duties. At least, in private. He knew his place whenever anyone else was around, but my family grew rather used to our familiarity after a while."

That friend again. "Isn't mau the Egyptian word for cat?"

"Yes. Mau had no name when he came to us, and while his devotion to me was great, he was fiercely independent and rather rebellious against anyone else. If he had not been a gift from the gods, I believe my parents would have had him executed for some of his behavior. He so reminded me of the revered animals that I named him after them, and held that harm to him would be penalized the same as for a true cat."

"Weren't people put to death for hurting cats?"

Ahkmenrah is still smiling. Quite devilishly. "Yes."

I snort. "Sounds like he was pretty pampered for a body guard."

Shrugging, Ahkmenrah shifts from one foot to the other. We've reached his sarcophagus and are just milling about, chatting.

"We had plenty of other guards. Mau's position was more . . . honorary? He insisted on it, was very protective of me, but it was hardly necessary. So yes, I spoiled him. My brother and I didn't get along, so Mau was my only male friend, really. I had . . . hoped he would be buried with me after he passed, but he wasn't in the tomb with us. I don't know what happened to him. I've tried researching my own history, my time period, but he's all but been forgotten. There's no record at all that he ever existed."

He's biting his lip, face filled with grief and a spark of anger that simmers, righteous but untouched, as he stares down at the floor. His eyes are glossy, and I feel frozen, unsure what to do, how to comfort him in a loss that's some four-thousand years old, yet obviously still so fresh in his heart.

Quietly, I say, "You remember him. Seems like, from what you've told me, that's all he would have cared about."

That elicits a choked laugh, and Ahkmenrah looks up, smiling again.

"Yes. That is true." Glancing down at his sarcophagus, he gives me a rueful smile and motions to it with his head. "I should probably pack in for the night."

Checking my phone, I find he's right. It's getting close to time.

"Want a hand?"

"No, it's . . . it's fine." He starts pulling out strips of dirty fabric from the inside of the sarcophogus.

"What are those?"

He stops, holding a strip up.

"My bandages." Like it's obvious. Of course, he is, technically, a mummy. I guess he has bandages.

He starts wrapping himself.

I frown. "That looks like a lot of work."

He shrugs. "I've gotten the hang of it over the years."

"You . . . put these on every night?"

"Of course."

"You know you don't have to, right?"

He shakes his head, still winding them on. "I need to keep my body preserved while the magic isn't active. Don't want to end up like Rexie."

He chuckles, but there's real fear there. I feel it, too, sudden and alarming.

"That could happen?"

Ahkmenrah swallows, binding not slowing. "I honestly don't know. I'd rather not chance it."

Note to self: research methods of preservation of the human body. What I could possibly learn that the museum isn't already doing, I don't know, but fear isn't rational, is it?

"Do you want be to bring you some fresh bandages, at least?"

His brows raising, he considers it a moment, then nods. "I would like that, but what if someone notices?"

"I'll keep the old ones safe just in case, but your sarcophagus is never open during the day, so it shouldn't be an issue."

"Alright, then." He smiles, and I wait patiently as he continues, until the last of the bandages are on except the facial strips. "Thank you, Leon."

Climbing into his sarcophagus, his legs slide out of sight beneath the stone slab that covers half of the glass display box and he settles on his back. His hand raises, pauses, and then settles on the lid, which is squeezed between the wall of the stone box surrounding his sarcophagus and the sarcophagus itself, propped up on the edge, ready to be pulled back on top. He nods at me stiffly, other hand holding the wrappings up, ready to go on his face.

He's . . . breathing a bit hard.

"You okay?"

"Would you mind leaving, please?" He snaps.

That startles me. I want to say no, tell him to bite me and chill out, but . . . something's gotta be wrong. He's been nothing but polite since we met.

But he wants me to go . . .

"If that's what you want," I tell him with a pointed look. He meets me eyes for a moment, and he looks scared. His glance darts away. I take a very slow step back. Another.

His arm shoots out of the sarcophagus, Ahkmenrah half sitting up to grab hold of my shoulder. "Wait. Please."

I put my hand over his and give it a squeeze. "Whatever you need, man."

His eyes continue to dart around, blinking furiously, avoiding me. "It is . . . unfair of me to ask you to stay. I don't _need_ anyone here."

That last part is said loudly, sternly, and his eyes lock on mine again. He's determined, challenging, and I see the ruler in him. But I also know there's something else there.

"Course you don't. But what do you _want_?"

"Not to go back into this _infernal box_!" He cries, slamming a fist against the lid. It clangs against the glass and stone surrounding the sarcophagus, echoing loudly in the recreated tomb that is Ahkmenrah's exhibit.

He fumes for several moments, staring down at what is likely his prison. "It is unfair of me to ask you to stay."

"Ask anyway."

"You don't understand. My . . . _reversion_ is not like the others'. It can be rather . . . disturbing."

Disturbing? Why—

Oh.

Because he isn't wax or plastic. He was a human being. Now he's—

I bite my lip, feeling icy cold wash over me.

"You _die_. Every night at sundown, you come into this room and lock yourself in this box and _die_ , over and over again. Alone." Taking his hand off my shoulder, I clasp my fingers with his and hold it tightly, lowering it into the sarcophagus as I lean over the edge beside it. "If you want me gone, you're going to have to get your jackals to throw me out, cause I ain't going anywhere, Ahkmenrah."

He exhales deeply, slow smile settling on his lips, and _I'm_ the one who feels like a weight's been lifted. "Thank you again, Leon. I didn't want to burden anyone, but . . . I do hate it in here."

He laughs, looking up at me, and there's that childish gleam back, and it's pushing away the haunted fear that was there, dimming it, and that's all I want for him.

"Ain't no burden, my friend," I tell him. "You don't have to go through this alone."

"It doesn't help that I was locked in my sarcophagus for fifty-four years before Larry—the last night guard—let me out. And he just wanted me to call off the jackals." He's chuckling again, but there's no humor in it. "We really should name them. Will you help me pick something?"

"Course."

"You should let go." He's growing quieter. "I need to put on my face bandages and close the lid before it's time."

"Not happening." His head shoots up curiously. "Don't worry about the lid. Or the bandages. I'll get them after you're asleep."

Asleep. Dead. I hate this.

He cringes. "You really want to handle a gross old mummy?"

"Doesn't matter. It's you. I'll do it."

I don't know where that came from, but there it is. Feels true enough; this kid is breaking my heart.

He looks down, biting his lip, but there's a smile, and it's so sweet it's contagious.

"How many times must I thank you tonight, Leon Ward?"

"None," is my immediate response.

He laughs. "You do have to let go of my hand, though. You might break of some of my fingers trying to get lose when I'm mummified otherwise."

"Now, that's a good argument." Reluctantly, my fingers loosen, and his hand slips free. I let my fingers linger, though, lightly brushing the back of his hand as it lays in the sarcophagus. "Ahkmenrah."

"Hm?" He clears his throat gives me his best neutral face.

"For a Pharaoh, you don't ask for much."

He pulls his brows together, lip quirking up. "Pardon?"

"Next time you want something, say so. In fact, order me around a bit. Exercise some of that kingly authority you got going on. For the guy responsible for giving life to everything in this museum, you're far too selfless."

He opens his mouth to retort, but the tablet on the wall starts to pale, and he snaps it shut and rolls his eyes. "I'll argue with you tomorrow."

I grin down at him as he settles back into place. "Goodnight, your Majesty."

He wrinkles his nose and sneers at me playfully—and then sucks in the most painful sounding breath I've ever heard. His back arches slightly, head leaning back, and his eyes gloss over, paling with milky film. White start to brown, his skin tightens, dries and cracks, sinks over bone, fading to grey. His eyelids slip shut, and his face looks almost peaceful as his lips part slightly, body rotting away.

My grip on the edge of the sarcophagus is too tight. His warning about the fingers is the only thing keeping me from grabbing hold of him. My teeth grind together, eyes painfully wide, stinging, and my heart pounds against my sternum like it's trying to escape, to rush and help him like I want to and can't.

This is so messed up. Everything is so messed up. Does it hurt? Good _night_ , it looks like it hurts. Every night. Freaking every night. He goes through this. Heaven above.

I curse aloud into the empty air. Over and over. Then I finish wrapping his head in the bandages, pull the lid over the sarcophagus, and stare down at him for several more minutes before shoving it back open and sitting on the edge of the platform supporting his display box with my head in my hands.

I do close the sarcophagus before, zombie-like, making my final rounds to make sure everything's in place. Then I go home, sit at my computer, and skip class, searching.


	7. Chapter 7

Ahkmenrah has quite a few half siblings being raised in the harem, mostly sisters. They are all beautiful and talented in their own ways, but there is one in particular I quickly develop a weakness for. She exploits this spectacularly. I am at her mercy, and she knows it, getting whatever she wants from me with a sweet smile and a low laugh.

It is no secret around the palace that I am odd. My behavior is strange, my customs foreign, my ignorance, at first, absolute. I am with the royal family for months before I am able to act properly, and even then I slip up. My temperament can be testy at times; I do not like being told what to do by people I haven't deemed worthy of my trust. I would follow Ahkmenrah through fire. I would not eat a meal handed to me by a stranger if I was starving.

So I am prone to incidents where my behavior is unacceptable, and it is obvious that only my status as gods-given keeps me from the dungeons. I try to behave, I really do. Ahkmenrah finds it all hilarious, though, so honestly I don't feel too bad about it.

When I start getting into trouble with that pretty little sister of his, however, his humor seems to dry up. At first, I suppose he is over protective of her, and sees me as enabling her behavior. This turns out to be very much not the case.

I can't imagine being happier than I feel at this moment—after Ahkmenrah slinks into the room where I'm serving my punishment doing work that I'm told should be "above one such as me" with the sullen look on his face, leaving his guards at the door, and slumps in a very un-royal fashion against a nearby pillar to watch me.

"I am forbidding you from seeing her again." He huffs eventually, looking petulant but still speaking slowly and carefully so that I can understand (the language is still difficult for me, and he knows it). "What could she have said to make you think such a thing was acceptable?"

It took me a few seconds to decipher that sentence with it's unfamiliar words; he must really be annoyed.

"She does not have to say a thing." I respond. "Have you seen her face?"

His eyes narrow at me. "More than I'd like."

His tone is clipped. I smile.

"Then you must know how much it . . ." I have to search for the word here. " _Resembles_ yours."

His brow shifts from annoyance to confusion. "Yes?"

I laugh. "She looks just like you."

"She does, I suppose. Why is this important?"

"Because I can no more tell her no than I can you." I tell him, stopping my work to watch him seriously, to really focus on what I'm trying to say. "I look at her, and I see you. I can not tell you no. I do not have it in me."

It's probably the most I've ever spoken at once. It took a lot of effort to assemble the sentences before speaking them.

The smile that spreads across his face, the way his eyes soften and his dimples deepen, is worth it. He looks down after a moment, bottom lip disappearing under the top, the glint of a sharp canine flashing before it's gone, too.

He raises his head up and almost . . . smirks after a moment, though that word seems to harsh for how pleased he looks, how kind.

"You are forgiven."

I am in love.


	8. Chapter 8

Every since that night, my rounds have begun and ended in Ahkmenrah's exhibit, right beside his sarcophagus. I have the lid off and the fresh new bandages on his face unwrapped before he wakes, ready to hand him his deshret as soon as he sits up.

Watching him come to life is just as disturbing as watching him die, I find. Both processes make me want to grab hold of him and not let go, no matter which way it's progressing. And it doesn't get any easier, watching him go down at night, despite it becoming routine. I still linger at his side far longer that I should, calming my breathing, back pressed against the glass, contemplating the unfairness of the universe. But at least, when he wakes, it gets better; it makes me smile, almost breathlessly, and he heals, inhales, and lights up when he sees me. At least then I can take his hand afterward, and grip it tight while I help him up.

At least he still exists. Even with this endless cycle of death and rebirth every morning and evening, he can still open his eyes, breathe the air, walk the earth, and smile. He tells me, when I ask, that it does hurt. Every time. But he has lost no zest for his life despite his suffering, and approaches every day with a thankfulness and the curiosity of a child.

I find that, unless Ahkmenrah asks to be alone or chooses not to go with me when I have to sort out something in the museum, I stay with him. Gone are the days where the Pharaoh trailed after me because I looked like his long deceased best friend; now it is the opposite, with me one step behind Ahkmenrah like a shadow, at his beck and call, my mission to make him smile, life, or even bark threats or orders in his little fits of authority (I am well aware that I take far too much please in _all_ of these situations, the dark gleam in his eyes when his voice demands to be obeyed included; I am too far gone to care—too devoted to his continued happiness to give a thought to what I know I'm doing to myself, something I try not to think about but have honestly already accepted in the back of my mind).

It isn't long before others start to joke that we are as inseparable as Octavius and Jedediah (to which I wiggled my eyebrows at the Pharaoh and made him snort). And, I hope, it isn't just my resemblance to Mau that keeps Ahkmenrah at my side. He does seem to honestly enjoy my company, and we spend time talking, wandering, watching TV in the break room (he's a sap for trashy reality shows, anything with drama, which I mostly can't stand but darn it if he isn't better to watch than anything on television), and keeping the museum occupants safe and in line.

I have a couple new rules for myself when we are together, too. No tight, enclosed spaces—which means never using the elevator. Ever. The lights are always on. In every room, even the ones not being used, in case the curious Pharaoh ever wanders there alone. Ahkmenrah hasn't mentioned anything about the dark, but considering his sarcophagus, I'm taking no chances. And every night, I try to find something new for him to experience, even if that means bringing movies, games, snack food, or anything else to work with me, spending my own money on it.

I'm slacking a bit in class, I admit. I'm still passing, though, so I can hardly bring myself to care. What does this degree matter in comparison to what my life has become?

I don't want to do anything else anymore; if I hadn't already invested so much, I'd drop out of college all together. My friends are all a bit annoyed at me because we don't hang out or talk now a days. The only thing I can think about is how I'm going to keep this job after Tilly comes back. I can't lose this job. I can't leave the friends I've made, the magic I've experienced.

And Ahkmenrah. Heaven above, Ahkmenrah.

"Don't go too far!" I call anxiously from the top of the front steps, in front of the entrance doors. Teddy's watching them from the inside to make sure no one else comes out, as a favor for me, but I still don't move far from them. Not because I'm worried about anyone else leaving the museum—more because I'd rather Ahkmenrah take a hint and get back up here.

He's at the bottom of the steps, smiling, admiring the familiar view from an unfamiliar vantage point, taking in the fresh air and the sky and the city and the chill of the winter that's finally on us after a late arrival. I brought him a hoodie, which he's got pulled on over his usual garb. It's the biggest one I own, baggy and comfortable, and it drapes over him in a much better fit than it does me since he's taller. It's still too thick, but it's warm, and that's the important thing. It took forever to convince him to wear it—not to mention get him to swap out his sandals for socks and boots. He'd gotten very testy with me during the ordeal, and I'd had to hold back the urge to smile when he almost went all dark Pharaoh on me (because it was freaking hot).

Whirling around, he frowns and calls back up to me, "When is it supposed to start?"

I snort. "How am I supposed to know?"

"I thought your modern science could predict these things?"

"Not down to the minute!"

He rolls his eyes and lets his shoulders sag, turning back around and staring up at the sky again, waiting. With a sigh, I hop down the steps to stand with him.

"The forecast said it'll snow _sometime_ tonight. I'm sorry I can't be any more specific than that."

He lowers his gaze and gives me an apologetic look. "I don't mean to be impatient. It's just, I never get tired of snow. I'm excited."

Bouncing on his heels at that, hands tucked inside the front pocket of the hoodie, shoulders hunching, he's absolutely adorable.

Smiling, I nudge his shoulder with my own. "It's fine."

He stumbles a step, then smiles back. Hesitating only a moment, biting his lip, he nudges me in return, knocking me precariously onto one foot before I regain my balance.

"Nice shot, Pharaoh."

Ducking his head, he nudges me again, softer this time, standing close and letting our shoulders press together and stay there, a light, comforting weight.

"I know you don't like me being out here," he says quietly.

"Yeah, well." I shrug. "That's just me being over protective and a worry-wort. Don't sweat it."

"It makes you nervous that I'm outside." He's watching my face, waiting, his shoulder still pressed to mine.

My deep breath fogs the air. "Yeah. I just gotta keep telling myself it's nowhere near sunrise and let you enjoy yourself. I'm sure once we start a good snowball fight, I'll forget all about how not-chill I am."

"What is a snow ball fight?" He pronounces each word slowly as he asks.

"Exactly what it sounds like." I grin.

"And how do we make balls of snow fight one another?"

My face scrunches up as I try not to laugh. "The snowballs don't fight—we do. We throw them at each other."

"Oh!" His face lights up. "Then I shall put forth my best effort to make you feel the creeping fingers of death's frigid embrace as you succumb to my assault upon your person by means of the fluffy, frozen tears of the gods on this darkest of nights."

He looks way too gleeful as he says that, all excitement and malevolence and mischief. I stare at him for several long seconds, longer than I know I should, before I spit out _something_ so he's doesn't catch on to the fact that, no, staring that long isn't generally considered proper and he should probably start carrying mace to fend me off.

"We might not get enough snow for that tonight," I start to tell him, and his face falls, so I continue quickly, "but it's supposed to keep coming down all day, so we should be ready to duke it out tomorrow night."

"And it will be safely in the early hours of the evening, so that you will not have to worry so much." He smirks at me, so I nudge him again.

"Laugh it up, your Majesty."

"Your concern is only humorous because it is so endearing."

Endearing. He thinks my illogical and bone-crushing fear of him staying out too late and turning to dust is endearing. If he only knew how badly it terrifies me for him to be standing outside right now, barely hours into the night where there's really no threat of losing him. There's no reason for my heart to be racing like it is, but never the less, I'll only calm down once Ahkmenrah is safe within the museum.

I feel like my mask is gonna crack when I make myself smile at him, but he doesn't seem to see anything amiss. Thank goodness for a natural poker-face.

"You are as overprotective as Mau was." He smirks playfully, then freezes. "Sorry."

"What for?"

"I don't mean to . . . I mean, I know you aren't—aren't him. I don't mean to bring him up all the time, or compare the two of you, I just . . ."

Slinging an arm around his shoulder, I lead him gently over to the nearest bench where we sit. "You're allowed to miss your friend, Ahkmenrah. Don't worry about it. It doesn't bother me."

That's a discussion I've already had with myself. How could I not, when it would be so easy to take advantage—even unconsciously—of my resemblance to Mau to gain Ahkmenrah's attentions? And how easy it is to be jealous of a man who's been dead for a good four thousand years. There were some very long days of self loathing along that road.

"Thank you, Leon." Even though there's plenty of space on the bench, we're pressed into each other's side, just like while we were standing. "I do miss him. And, sometimes, I feel . . . guilty. Being alive without him. Making new friends. Seeing the world continue and grow and knowing all these things he'll never get to. And here you are, with a face so much like his, that sometimes I think he's still here, and the other times, I completely forget about him and the face is all yours and then feel terrible about it later. It's rather difficult, to juggle one face in my mind with two people."

I cock a brow. "You must be terrible with twins and triplets."

He narrows his eyes at me, but his lip curls, fighting a smile.

"You sure you don't want me to get a hair cut?"

Ahkmenrah huffs. "Don't ask me; it's your hair."

"I'd cut it if you want me to."

"It's not about what I want!"

"Says the Pharaoh."

"Now you're just being facetious. It's your hair; do what you want."

"Make me."

"That _literally_ defies the point."

I'm grinning so hard it's painful, and Ahkmenrah rolls his eyes, exasperated, but he can't hold it long. He's shaking his head at me when the first snowflake lands beneath his left eye, dissolving to water almost instantly. Reaching out, I wipe it off gently with my thumb, and he stares down at my finger before his stare flicks up to my eyes.

I nod towards the sky. "It's snowing."

It's sparse, and not sticking yet, but his face shoots up to look around, darting this way and that, taking in every spot of white in the inky blues and blacks of the sky. That childish smile is back again, so full of wonder. Ahkmenrah has such a range of emotions and expressions, he amazes me.

When he turns that joy back towards me, I open my mouth.

"Sometimes, I get this idea that, maybe—you know, some people think that when a person dies, their soul might be given another shot at life, and they get reborn as someone else. I kinda hope that, maybe, I got really, really lucky, and Mau got born again to find you. I'd be freaking proud, if that were true, you know? I'd like to think I'd try to get reborn to find you again if that's possible, so I'm sure he would have, too. I hope it doesn't take four thousand years next time, though."

I laugh, stutteringly, awkwardly, and Ahkmenrah laughs, too, but mostly, he just stares at me. That wonder, that curiosity, all directed my way, and I don't know if I've said something foolish or meaningful. It meant a lot to me. Took a lot to say it. My pounding heart doesn't have anything to do with being outside anymore.

I wonder if Mau was in love with him, too. Mau, if you're in here, thanks for this. For everything. For being with him, for giving us this connection. Wish I could know you.

"That certainly sounds like something Mau would do," Ahkmenrah finally says, voice thick and deep. "And if this is somehow so, I want you to know you have done him proud as well, Leon Ward. And if it is not, that in no way diminishes how important your friendship is to me."

I can barely breathe, and I certainly can't speak. I only nod, blinking rapidly, staring down at the slickening sidewalk, drowning in the feel of his warmth and presence beside me.

Shoving him suddenly, I shoot, "I'm gonna freaking cry. You turd, you're making me cry!"

Ahkmenrah scoffs, shoving back. "It's not my fault. You began this!"

"Shut yer mouth!"

"Goodness, Leon, you sound like Jedediah when you get wound up!"

"How dare you—take that back!"

* * *

McPhee complains halfheartedly the next evening when I show up early to build snow forts and ammunition for the snowball fight. And about all the paperwork he's _finally_ finished with from the requests I had him put in awhile back. He informs me Tilly will be returning with the new shipments by the end of the week, and I'll still officially be an employee while the exhibits get set up. After that, the board just won't approve the extra funds—especially after all the convincing they took to get the transfers approved, all the hoops they had to jump through to get this to happen.

Hiding the advertisements for the new arrivals from the inhabitants of the museum has been a hassle, but it'll be worth it once everything gets set up. After the disaster at the opening of the Earth and Space Center some years back, they did agree they needed something new again to draw back in visitors.

And, frankly, I'm more than willing to keep working for free or work experience or whatever, so long as I can stay. I've told McPhee so. It isn't practical—I'll have to get a real job during the day to pay for my rent and food and everything, and I still have to finish school, but there's just no way I'm leaving. None. I'll quite school first. I'll move in the break room and hide during open hours if I have to.

The thought occurs to me that if I were to die in the museum, the tablet's magic would probably reanimate me come nightfall, and then I wouldn't need to eat or pay rent or anything anymore . . . but it's a very, very bad thought, and I try to pretend I didn't have it. My thoughts have been in places similar to that before, though with decidedly less happy endings, and I don't want to go down that road again, not when there are perfectly plausible alternatives that don't involve . . . that. I've come too far to open that door again.

Rubbing my arms, knowing that beneath the sleeves are the marks on my arms—reminders of that time—I shift my shoulders and try to envision myself physically casting off dark thoughts, and return to building the snow forts. Ahkmenrah is going to love this. Teddy and Sacagawea have to be invited. Maybe Attila and the Huns, too. The Civil War soldiers would take it way too seriously, and get their fabric bodies wet, so not them. Neanderthals are still mad, and don't follow orders well, so another no there. Jedediah and Octavius would love a snowball fight, but it'll be tough for them, I think. Oh well, we'll figure something out—they're coming. That's ten people. Is five on five a good number for a snowball fight?

I think, fleetingly, about the last snowball fight I'd been in—at the college dorms, with Elle, Gage, and Mark. Classmates, strangers, had joined in. We'd all needed the de-stresser.

I haven't talked to my friends properly in weeks. It would be so much fun to have them here . . .

But I can't. I just can't.

I've made myself sad again. But my friends have lives outside the museum. They have family, other friends, jobs and hopes and dreams and prospects and, more than anything, literally the entire world laid out before them. They don't need me.

The exhibits have none of that. Their lives are confined to one building, only in the dark hours, and they deserve so much more but can never have it. As far as priorities are concerned, I'll choose the museum.

For the first time, completely and officially, I say goodbye to my old friends—my old life—in my mind and let the weight of trying to keep up with both fall from my body. Things are changing, and if this is really what I want, I have to let go. They don't deserve to be saddled with my half-hearted friendship and let downs. I can't keep trying to drag them back into my life only to push them away again when I deem the museum more important. If I can't share this with them (and I know I can't—I know my friends, I know this isn't something I can count of them for, no matter how much they care about me), and this is everything to me now. So there it is.

Which doesn't mean I can't be sad about it, though. So I am, for a while. But I try to put it aside for the night when the sky starts to darken and I wake my way inside to get ready for sundown. Preparations made, I sit beside Ahkmenrah's open sarcophagus and wait, practicing a smile that isn't sad. It isn't difficult; it's my usual routine before he wakes, after all.

When it begins, I stare, unblinking, biting the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to watch, not to look away for even a second. Deep, perfectly timed breathes. Forced, flat numbness.

Never gets easier.

Coming to completion, Ahkmenrah swallows, coughs a few times as he tries to even out his own breathing, and sinks back against the sarcophagus bottom, eyes pressed closed. For a moment, he looks like he's fighting tears.

He always does.

I take his closest hand, clench it fiercely, and that face softens, those lips slip into a smile, and all the pain fades as his eyes pry open to stare right at me. He always knows where I'll be.

Grinning, I give his hand a few squeezes. "You ready?"

"For what?" he asks slowly. It's taken several weeks of my being here for him to be okay with relaxing enough to look like this—like someone who just woke from a restful sleep and can take all the time he needs getting up instead jolting awake in a flurry of fear, anxious to get up and out of his sarcophagus as soon as possible, not willing to spend one extra second there than he has to (afraid, I think, of not being able to get out of it again at all). It's one of the things I'm most proud of.

My thumb rubs his hand in an involuntary stroke. "What do you think? It's been snowing all day."

I say that last part slyly, and his eyes shoot open, sitting up in excitement. "I want to see. Right now."

Laughing, I pull him up and keep a hold of him as he steps out of his resting place. "As you command, my Pharaoh. But you have to change first. This time, I came prepared so—"

Letting him go (reluctantly), I pick up the fat backpack I had sitting on the floor.

"You have a small selection to choose from this time."

He's practically bouncing on his feet as he grabs the bag and unzips it (glad he knows how to do that already), pulling out the clothes and examining them one by one.

I had debated on just giving him some of my things again (the idea of watching the guy I like run around in my clothes had been very, very appealing), but in the end I had spent far too much money getting things brand new and in his size that I thought he might like. It wasn't like we hadn't spent time together online browsing clothes before for me to know well enough his tastes (I love my life).

He ends up in the grey Cambridge sweater (of course) over a black shirt that buttons up the off center and is so expensive it was probably never meant to be hid under cotton, along with one of the largest scarves I had ever seen (which was why I bought it) that's spotted like a leopard, and thick, durable khakis. I'm one-hundred percent certain this dork is ruining fashion, but he somehow makes it look like something a casual rich boy would throw on to take a walk that I can't argue even when he pulls on the black, fur lined boots.

I probably shouldn't be trying to judge, anyway, being dressed the part of the poor college student I am (I sold my xbox and all the games to go with it to help pay for Ahkmenrah's new winter wardrobe—totally worth it).

"Alright," he says, dressed and ready. "Let's go."

"Hold your horses," I shoot back, pulling a beanie from the bag and tugging it over his head, careful to cover his ears. "And you still need gloves."

Honest to goodness, the four-thousand year old pharaoh rolls his eyes at me. "Yes, mother."

"Don't you sass me." I tell him over my shoulder as I dig out the gloves and them slap him in the shoulder with them. He pulls them on with only a raise of his brows and a tiny smirk.

"Can I go now, mother?"

I ruffle his beanie, and dash away as he tries to fix it. "Race ya!"

"Your dastardly behavior is reprehensible, night guardian!"

His words echo after me, along with his clomping steps, and I have to vault over a passing rhino as the heard blocks Ahkmenrah's path. I watch over my shoulder to see him weave through them only to find that, of course, they move out of the way for him to just run through. Typical.

He's catching up fast now, and I'm skipping steps as I shoot down the stairs and towards the front doors.

Suddenly, the flank of Texas is blocking my way. "Woah there, sonny! Where's the fire?"

I don't have time to scoot around Teddy—Ahkmenrah is already passing us, and he tags the locked doors with a triumphant "HAH!"

Groaning, I stumble back a few steps and throw up my hands theatrically.

Theodore glances between us, his mustache twitching with amusement. "Well, it seems like I've interfered in you boys' race. I do apologize."

"It is only right, Teddy." Ahkmenrah says amiably, almost swaggering back our way. "Considering Leon's underhanded tactics at the set off of our impromptu competition, I'd say your arrival was absolutely karmic. And besides, I would have won, anyway."

"Cheeky brat." It's hard to work up a coherent rebuttal when he's working that powerful charm so hard; I don't think he even knows he's doing it. Must come natural to one raised to rule. "The rhinos moved for you—and I know that was tablet power at work, even if you weren't controlling it. I had to jump them. That, plus Theodore and Texas here, count as two cheats for you, and only the headstart for me. I totally would have won."

"But that is not the way it happened, is it?" He shrugs, looking extremely pleased with himself. "And it is how things actually happen, not how they could have happened, that matter."

"The will of the gods?"

"If you will."

"Fine." It's my turn to grin now. "Let's see what their will is out in the snow. Five on five all out snowball war."

At the mention of the snow, Ahkmenrah is staring towards the doors again, and I'm pulling out my keys to unlock it.

"You coming, Theodore?"

"Of course my boy, wouldn't miss it. Just going to pick up Sacagawea and we'll join you shortly."

"Alright, send Attila, Jedediah, and Octavius our way if you see them. And dress warm!"

"We're wax and plastic, Leon! We'll be fine."

He disappears as I jangle the keys a final time and hold open the door for the young Pharaoh. "After you."

Ahkmenrah doesn't get farther than the door. He stands, frozen in wonder, in the doorway, staring out at he blanket of white stretching out across the city. His smile is soft, gaze drifting up to watch more small flakes drift down from the dark sky, and he sighs. "I never get tired of this. I remember my first snow here—I had no time to enjoy it. We were chasing a former night guard who had stolen the tablet. I was riding on the back of Rexie after a horsedrawn carriage."

I stare at him. "You road a T-Rex skeleton through central park?"

He grins even further. "It was the middle of the night, no one saw us. And it was my first night out of my sarcophagus after that fifty-four year stint. It was all very exciting."

"What did it take them fifty-four years to let you out for?"

His smile slips, and I regret asking despite his nonchalant shrug. "I suppose they were afraid of me. It was my tablet, after all. And, to their credit, I had been doing a rather lot of scary screaming. The jackals attacking visitors probably didn't help."

Screaming. Mercy, he was trapped in that box screaming for help, and nobody came. I hope I never meet any of the previous night guards; I'll beat them within an inch of their lives. I hate them.

And, to a small extent, I resent the rest of the exhibits, too. For letting it happen. For leaving him there. So when Theodore returns with Sacagawea, the two miniatures, and the Huns, I haven't recovered my composure enough to not give them a bit of the cold shoulder when they arrive and Theodore dismounts.

"All soldiers ready and accounted for, my good man."

I grunt in response and simply lead the way outside. When I turn around at the bottom, I catch Theodore raising at eyebrow at Ahkmenrah, who gives him an apologetic look and whispers something I don't catch before they join the rest of us.

"Ahkmenrah, Jedediah, and Octavius are on my team!" I announce, claiming one of the cover mounds. The miniatures had been locked up, after all. No need to be angry with them. Sacagawea, too. "And Sacagawea, if I can pry her away from Mr. President."

"Hardly seems fair, giving me the troops that are trained to work together." Theodore frowns, but Sacagawea smiles, gives him a kiss on the cheek, and saunters over to my side.

"Can you even throw a snowball at me, Teddy?" She asks with a smooth smile that's almost predatory.

He shakes his head. "My dear, I don't believe I can."

"Then stay out of the way, darling," she replies. "Because I aim to win, and your chivalry won't stop me."

The older man all but shivers in response. "Then I shall set aside my qualms to give you a fair battle. Attila!"

"Oooowaaaa!" His shout is a battle cry, and his men respond in kind, racing to get into formation behind the walls of snow.

Ahkmenrah, Sacagawea, and I make our way behind our own barricades, Sacagawea setting Octavius and Jedediah up on the edge of mine. I crouch down beside them.

"Got a battle plan there, Braidy?"

"I am unsure what assistance we can provide on such short notice, Vicarius." Octavius almost looks like he's pouting. "We are but two men, the snow rises above our heights, and we have no equipment, such as catapults, with which to use to traverse the distance"

Jedediah stares at his friend, and then smacks him on the arm.

"Ow!"

"You sound like you're giving up already! Some leader you are! Where's that daggum Roman pride, compadre?"

"I didn't say I'd given up! I'm merely stating the facts of our situation! We must only use our wits to overcome them!"

"I hear ya," Jedediah and I both say at the same time, to which everyone stares at us and Ahkmenrah smirks.

"Told you."

"And I told you to shut yer mouth, your Majesty," I shoot back before turning to the miniatures again. "Come on, guys. I have faith in you. I picked you for my team for a reason, didn't I?"

Octavius slams a fist to his chest, standing suddenly ramrod straight. "We will not disappoint, my liege."

Jedediah rolls his eyes. "Oh, here he goes with the 'my liege' stuff again. I thought Gigantor was your liege! Traitor!"

Octavius stomps his foot, which does actually sink into the snow a bit and he has to tug it free as he barks at his friend, "Stop calling me a traitor! It hurts my feelings."

With a worried glance over at the huddle Theodore has assembled with the Huns on their territory, I shoot looks between Sacagawea on my left and Ahkmenrah on my right. "Does anyone actually have a plan?"

"I thought you were supposed to be our leader!" Jedediah smarts off. His comment goes ignored as both of my other companions turn serious.

"I know how Teddy thinks. If we throw him off by anticipating his plans, the Huns will abandon him and rally around Attila, and Attila is fairly straightforward in his tactics. Teddy will be a sitting duck, and the Huns will focus on offense, not defense, leaving them open as well." I can almost see the wheels turning behind those cunning eyes as Sacagawea takes in our playing field. "They will discount Jedediah and Octavius. We should use that, as well."

"Ambush them." Ahkmenrah scoots closer, skirting across the gap between our walls to settle at my side. It's a better spot to hear her, of course, but heck if I don't feel smug having him there. "Lure them out, have them concentrate on the three of us. Leave Octavius and Jedediah here to set a trap."

"This is by far the most serious and complicated snowball fight I have ever been in." I inform them idly. "Let's do it."

"How are we supposed to set a trap for giants?" Jedediah grumbles.

Octavius sneers at him. "Now who's the quitter?"

"Oh, you take that back!"

"I will when you show me your worth, Jedediah! When we have proven our friends faith well placed and bested Teddy and the Huns!"

"Alright, hoss! Let's get it done!"


	9. Chapter 9

Ahkmenrah was not supposed to take the throne. That was an honor meant for his brother, the firstborn son. But one of the few times I was called to speak with the Pharaoh himself, alone, it was made clear that this would not be how things would happen.

His sons worried Pharaoh Merenkahre very greatly. Kahmunrah had been born to rule, and has taken to this responsibility not with the reverence it is due, but instead with selfishness and pride. He is cruel, flippant, prone to quick changes in mood and no restraint. Charisma and cunning are about the only good qualities he displays, and he uses neither for the good of his people. Merenkahre will not—can not—have his eldest son on the throne.

Ahkmenrah, on the other hand, is young, yes, but intelligent. With a thirst for knowledge, insatiable curiosity, and a willingness to be corrected when wrong that his brother does not. There is a harshness in him that Merenkahre hopes will be tempered by his great heart. With Ahkmenrah, responsibilities are seen to with due respect, his pride evident but not misplaced. It in these qualities, in his second son, that Merenkahre sees the future of Egypt.

My arrival and insistence on serving the young man only strengthened the Pharaoh's opinion on the matter. As far as he is concerned, after all these months with me living in their midst, the gods have given their blessing on his decision—to make not his first born, but his second, his heir.

Kahmunrah is furious when the announcement is made, and storms out. Ahkmenrah is overwhelmed, but determined to make his father proud. With solemnity and determination, he accepts his new position.

He thought he would have more time to prepare. So did his father. He does not.

Merenkahre and Shepseheret are taken from this world so swiftly it stuns all of Egypt. No one is ready. Ahkmenrah barely has time to mourn as he becomes Pharaoh, but he does his best to do for his parents' in their deaths what should have been done in life. He becomes so busy so quickly that no one pays much attention to what has become of his brother.

I am at his side as best I can be. He is a good ruler for the short time he is allowed to honor his father's wishes and take care of his kingdom. His father would have been proud, and I tell him so. In the midst of the strain that has settled upon him those first few months, he smiles at me.

And then, one night, he is as gone as his parents. That smile, that beautiful face, that glorious life; gone. Despite the fight I put up against the men who restrain me, despite my screams and tears and agony, despite his flailing limbs and gasping breaths and the blood that runs through both their veins, Kahmunrah talks of how he was cheated, talks of the throne, talks and talks and talks, every word selfish and meaningfully as he chokes the life out of his baby brother in the night.

Ahkmenrah goes limp. Stops fighting, stops gasping. Stops.

I go limp in the grasp of my captors. Stop fighting, stop screaming. Stop.

Kahmunrah laughs. Laughs. Tells me I am his now, that I am going to stand at his side and bless his rule, as I should have done all along. His words are meaningless. Everything is meaningless. I don't even look at him.

Only at the body he has tossed aside. The empty eyes that stare back at me. The one I couldn't save.

Why did the gods send me to him if this was how it was to end? I should have saved him. Why couldn't I save him?

Kahmunrah locks me away, starves me for a few days, and takes my lack of resistance as acceptance of my new position as his possession. It is not long before I am given free roam of the palace as before.

Part of me wants to kill him. The other part can't look at him without seeing his brother, can't stand the thought of shedding the blood that my beloved shared.

So, instead, I decide to go back to where I came from. Maybe I will demand to know why I was sent, what I did—what Ahkmenrah did, to deserve such an end.

The scribes had written down the symbols that had glowed upon the golden tablet the night I had arrived. I got to the gate, I tap them, not caring that no one knew the proper order. If I get it wrong, then I go to the afterlife. That's fine. I deserve it. I didn't save him.

The gate opens. I step through. And I'm falling again.

The nothingness is so much better than the pain of his loss.


	10. Chapter 10

The snowball fight was a marvelous success. With Sacagawea's planning and insight and Ahkmenrah's leadership, our plan goes off without a hitch. Sacagawea takes every advantage of Theodore she has, which has him floundering in indecision, and there isn't an ounce of hesitation in me when Ahkmenrah sends me out against the Huns. They are bulky targets, even compared to my not so small frame, not at all used to throwing their ammunition or having it be so light, so dodging doesn't turn out to be all that difficult. I cover the Pharaoh as he keeps the fire coming from behind and we circle around, Theodore and the Huns' already failing to keep up their coalition as Sacagawea has Theodore under her thumb. Even when the Huns split up to try and help him, they are no match for Savagawea's covert hunting skills as opposed to their brash battle strategy.

When we finally drive them from their base, they race for cover behind ours—only to find our snowball stores already destroyed and the sidewalk solid ice, courtesy of the waterhose the two miniatures had fetched while we were away. With nothing to defend themselves, they can only scream their surrender as we pelt them mercilessly with barrage after barrage of fluffy balls of snow. By the time we run out, they are on the ground, trying to use the broken up bits of the snow we'd hit them with to mount a counter attack. They fail.

"We are victorious!" Octavius shouts from atop the snowmound.

"YEEHAW!" Comes Jedediah's cry from back at the hose faucet, where he has been in charge of turning on and off the water.

Our victory cheers last only a few seconds before Attila charges straight through one of the icy barriers and dives into the nearest snowbed and emerges with an armful of fluff. He then proceeds to start chasing us with it. We run.

None of the battles after the first are nearly as serious or coordinated. We fumble around like kids, tossing snow and playing in the piles, making snow angels and building snow people. Attila turns out to be amazing at making ice sculptures, and has chipped away a small house for Octavius and Jedediah to exploit before one of his men accidentally trips over it and smashes the thing, after which we have to rescue to poor fool from his own people as they try to turn the hose on him.

By the time my alarm sounds and we have to head back in, we've made a mess out of the street, sidewalk, and stairs leading up to the museum, let alone patches out in the trees leading further into the park area. I lock the doors back up and pull out the towels I'd laid out beforehand, helping everyone clean up before they go tromping melting ice throughout my museum. Ahkmenrah loses the boots, hat, and gloves and jogs back to his exhibit long enough to don his sandals again before joining me for my closing rounds. Then he's laying down for sunrise.

"Thank you for today, Leon. It was brilliant, absolutely brilliant."

He looks so happy, whole face lit up and still flushed from the frost and excitement.

I grin right back. "That was nothing."

As he sucks in that terrible, terrible breath and begins to seize, to decay, I hold on to that thought.

That was nothing. I've got an even bigger surprise coming, and it's gonna blow this out of the water.

* * *

Just as McPhee had said, Tilly pulls up along with the huge moving trucks on Thursday. The museum closes up for the day as the movers haul in all the new pieces to the exhibit and set things up. Notes and pictures are compared, McPhee runs around, screeching and barking unnecessary instructions, and Tilly is eventually found fawning over the wax figures in the Neanderthal exhibit. I stick around way past overtime, skipping my classes for the day, to help coordinate the set up.

Catching as much sleep as I can that afternoon, I return to work early again to check how things went, make sure it's all perfect, and then prepare for the big reveal. My pre-rounds are done as quickly as possible, and then I'm at Ahkmenrah's side, grinning, barely able to contain my excitement.

The tablet begins to glow, muffled sounds echo around the room, and Ahkmenrah jerks up, taking his first gasping breaths. He's reaching up to take my hand before his eyes are even open, smile slipping into place as the gasping calms.

There's a low groan, a few shuffling noises, and Ahkmenrah's eyes shoot open to lock with mine. Then he shifts to look around , take in the room.

I watch as, slowly, his eyes widen and his mouth falls open. He's scanning everything, twisting in his sarcophagus to look at everything: the exhibit is now a recreation of the tomb in which Ahkmenrah and his parents were found. The wall where the tablet hung has been replaced with a gloriously carved gate in dark stone with a perfect indention in it that fits the tablet and even holds the missing corner and top pieces. The wall is the only thing not original to Ahkmenrah's family tomb, but it was discovered to have obviously been made to hold the tablet. Various artifacts are cordoned off in their designated areas, and Ahkmenrah's sarcophagus has been turned to accommodate the new additions on either side of him.

And two figures are rising up out of both of them.

They are removing their bandages, and Ahkmenrah watches in awe, back and forth between the two, as the faces of his parents are revealed.

"Mother! Father!" He's half raised up, frozen in place, unable to figure out which to run to first, and his mother chuckles at him.

Shepseheret's a beautiful woman, dark, with a strong jaw and a toughness about her that is offset by her soft smile. Ahkmenrah scrambles out of his sarcophagus and holds out a hand to help her up before they embrace. By then, his father has come over to join them.

Merenkahre is almost grandfatherly, with kind eyes, thin lips, and a proud carry that displays his royal station.

"I can't believe you're both here." Ahkmenrah keeps a hand on both their arms, gripping tight, and his parents smile so genuinely.

All the work, the research and the extra hours and the missed classes and the time and frustration and organizing and negotiating, it has all been worth it to get them here, together again.

"Is this transfer permanent?" Ahkmenrah asks.

"From what Miss Tilly has told us, yes." His mother answers.

"Apparently, your museum's employees have worked very hard to merge our exhibits."

Ahkmenrah turns around, and the look of wonder and gratitude on his face takes my breath away. "You did this?"

"Well, it was my idea, but really, I have no authority here, so I'd say McPhee's the one who got it done. Tilly brought them back with her."

"Is that Mau?" Shepseheret stares at me curiously, but her expression is still soft and loving—so much so it confuses me for a moment. "You found him."

"Oh, no." Ahkmenrah shakes his head. "This is Leon Ward, the night guardian here. I know, the resemblance is uncanny, I admit, but he is not Mau."

"It's an honor to meet you both."

Merenkahre steps forward, tall and proud. "Thank you, Leon Ward, for helping to reunite us with our beloved son once again."

This comment seems a little odd to me, and I glance over to the dark shadows on the other side of Merenkahre's sarcophagus just as a rasping, bitter voice startles the family. He can't understand what is said, and assume it is Egyptian. The three go wide eyed, turning towards the sound, and find the final addition to the exhibit pulling himself out of his sarcophagus. He almost trips as he steps out, curses the sarcophagus under his breath, and straightens with a scowl. His mother's looks dominate his face, but hold none of her softness.

He looks at each of them in turn, speaking briefly, with no warmth, no love, and when his eyes land on Ahkmenrah, barely contained hatred.

At the shock on the faces of the parents and my best friend, I realize even without being able to understand the new arrival's words, that what I had thought was a very amazing thing that I had done in bringing the forth member of the family back together with them for the first time since they were alive might actually be a very, very bad thing.

His face breaks out into a smile that is so humorless it's scary, and he continues speaking, motioning around, nonchalant, and begins wandering slowly, all but ignoring the tense atmosphere emanating from literally everyone else.

Merenkahre speaks to him stiffly, eyes locked on his eldest son.

Kahmunrah looks honestly interested in whatever his father said, and smirks after a moment as he replies. When his eyes drift over to Ahkmenrah, so do mine.

He's shaking. Literally his hands are clenched at his sides and his eyes are wide and his lips are pressed into a thin line and he looks terrified, petrified, and my stomach drops out. This is very, very wrong. What have I done? What did _he_ do?

Kahmunrah is grinning, and he looks twisted, his father looks angry and his mother looks like she might throw up, and when he takes a step forward, Ahkmenrah suddenly topples backwards until he slams himself into the large carving where the tablet is held, sheer terror on his face, chest heaving. His elder brother _laughs_.

I don't think. I rush forward and slam my fist into his face.

He stumbles back, touches his now cut lip, and then his face furrows in anger before he's charging at me right back. There's some loud scraping sound, and the room seems like it's suddenly filled with wind, but Kahmunrah and I are locked in a grapple, and he's both taller and more fit than I am, and he's slowly pushing me back.

"Leon!"

I glance over just enough to see Ahkmenrah on the floor a few feet from where I last saw him, his mother crouched at his side, arms wrapped around him. Merenkahre is there, too, but it is Ahkmenrah who has called to me. There is an odd light casting shadows over all of them, and it's coming form behind me.

Ahkmenrah tries to stand, but his mother pulls him down, and he cries out again, "LEON!"

Kahmunrah ducks low, and I lose my balance, falling forward over his should, which he rams into my stomach. Then he's shoving me away, laughing, triumphant, and I'm falling back, stumbling-

-and then the ground is gone, and I'm falling.


	11. Chapter 11

Things become confusing in the fall. It tries to strip everything away, but I won't let it. I won't give it who I am, and who I was to Ahkmenrah—his memory is mine, and none can have it. I cling to it, and then I'm grasping onto more than that. Things that weren't there suddenly are, things that were gone mix with things that are new, and yet what is new is old, what was gone is new, and everything is contradictory, senseless, and painful all over again.

There is Mau. There is also Leon.

There is Egypt. There is New York.

There is Ahkmenrah. In both, there is Ahkmenrah.

Dead. And alive.

Alive.

I have to find that. I have to go there. My purpose is not over. Alive. He is alive. In another place, another time—but it doesn't matter. I must find him. I must go to him.

I have to fight. The fall does not want to let me go. The nothingness does not wish for me to become something again. Again. I have been something before. Nothingness is not everything; I can't let it lie to me, to trick me into thinking it is. It has before. But I am something. I have been something—twice before. I have been Leon. I have been Mau.

Who am I now? I don't care. It doesn't matter right now. Ahkmenrah—Ahkmenrah matters.

So I follow the draw; it leads me, as it did before. The draw to wear I belong—to him. The door is there, it opens, and then the nothingness is gone and the fall stops and I'm standing in a place Leon has before, surrounded by things that seem more familiar to Mau: Ahkmenrah's exhibit, decorated like a tomb.

My eyes immediately go to Ahkmenrah's sarcophagus. It's open. They all are.

All three of them. I breathe out a long sigh. Kahmunrah's sarcophagus is gone. I'm glad.

I'm also worried. How long have I been gone? And what happened after I left?

Ahkmenrah. Ahkmenrah.

Rushing forward, I dash out of the exhibit and into the hall. Everyone and everything is awake, walking about, and it's hard to navigate with the growing pound of my heart and the crowd that's in the way. I'm in a hurry—I want to see him. I have to know he's okay. He has to be okay.

My best bet is the front entrance; if Ahkmenrah isn't there himself, someone who knows where he is will be. I skid to a halt at the top of the stairs, scanning the room. A familiar pair draws my eye, and I'm rushing down the steps two at a time before I can think.

" _My Pharaoh_!" I call out, ancient Egyptian still not as natural on my tongue as English—but being raised bilingual has it's advantages, and the words don't feel wrong as the switch begins in my head, suddenly all Mau again. " _Queen Shepseheret._ "

They both turn with as much speed as their inherent dignity allows, and the shocked expressions that take over their features have me bowing at their feet, apologies on my lips without hesitation.

" _I am so sorry for my—for being gone, and for the carelessness that caused it. I wish to be punished when the time comes._ "

Shepseheret tilts her head. ". . . _Mau_?"

I glance up. " _If you wish. Leon is also my name. I am sorry; this must be very—must not make much sense to you. I wish to explain, but—your son. Please, where is Ahkmenrah?_ "

My voice almost breaks on his name; flashes of that last night, of watching his life fade beneath his brother's hands, torment me. I need to see him.

She looks to her husband, to me, and then her eyes flash up behind me, to the stairs I've just come from. I stand, turning—

He's there. Frozen a few steps from the top, staring down at me as I stare up at him. Death, time—nothing has changed him. He's as beautiful, as vibrant, as glorious as the day I first laid eyes on him—both times.

"Leon!" He's running, cape billowing behind him, deshret shaking on his head. Running to me.

I'm racing in return, closing the distance between us, ignoring the crowd in the room and his parents behind us and all forms of propriety that have been drilled into me during my time in Egypt—I throw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him, pulling him close and burying my face into the crook of his neck, leaving next to no space between our bodies as we smash together on the same step. Far from objecting, his arms encircle me, holding me just as tightly, face in my hair.

"You're alive." His words are breathless, and in english, and warm against my skin. The beads of his wesekh are digging into my chest, and I couldn't care less. "Thank the gods. Leon."

"I could say the same." I can feel him breathing against me, feel his blood pulsing in his neck, the beating of his heart and the head of his body. It feels so good it hurts. "I'm so sorry, Ahkmenrah. I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for." He tells me, and it isn't true. It just isn't.

I pull away and drop to my knees below him. "I should have protected you. It was my job, my mission—what the gods gave me to you for. And I failed. I couldn't do anything. I'm so sorry, Ahkmenrah. I'm so sorry."

His head shakes slightly as he frowns, brow furrowing. "What are you talking about, Leon?"

"I am Mau." I cringe as the dawning begins on his face. "That's what happened to me when I fell through the gate. I ended up in Egypt—with you. With no memory. And I failed you—my prince; my Pharaoh; my friend."

His head shoots up, and I can only assume he's looking to his parents behind us, but then he's leaning down in front of me, a hand on my shoulder, gripping me tight.

"It is I who should be sorry, then." He says quietly. "That you had to go through that. That you had to see—"

"It is I who failed you!" I insist, cutting him off desperately. How can he think that this is on him? "You were murdered! And I could do nothing to stop it! I wanted to die with you! I'd have given anything to change it, to see you again! I thought, if I went through the gate again, I'd go back to the gods where I'd be with you again. Instead, the gods were merciful enough to bring me back to you again."

"You tried to—Leon, you could have died!"

"As I should have, protecting you!"

His face contorts in anger as he shouts, "And you think I would have wanted that!?"

I cringe back but refuse to look away, unwilling to concede. "Pharaohs are buried with their pets all the time."

His mouth drops, then snaps back shut as his anger renews over the shock, simmering in his eyes. His next words are clipped, seethed between clenched teeth. "And you think that's what you are to me? A pet?"

"What else could I be? To a Pharaoh? A god on mortal soil? To _you_." I stress that last word, unable to emphasize just how important he is, how special, how high above me in all things, any other way. "Ahkmenrah, I don't want to be with out you. As long as I can be with you, I don't care how or as what. Unworthy as I am—"

"Unworthy? _Unworthy!?_ " By now, a crowd has started to gather, the room silent and still as people watch our reunion turned shouting match. It barely registers to me, focused on him as I am, as he continues to look bewildered and offended as he speaks. "The gate to the underworld was opened when random symbols where pushed—you could have ended up anywhere! You could have ended up nowhere! But you ended up back with me. You truly are a gift from the gods, Leon, and you could never be unworthy of anything."

That stops the breath in my chest. But I have to shake my head, to whisper. "I am. I am unworthy."

"Leon—"

"Who isn't? Who could ever be worthy of _you_?"

His hand is reaching for me, and it freezes between us. His eyes lock on mine, wide and shocked and confused, jaw clenched.

I exhale stutteringly. "Two lives I have lived, and in both, my first thought upon seeing you was of how beautiful you are. And then I had the pleasure of seeing that it went deeper than the skin—twice. Two lives I have gotten to be by your side. No one has ever been so blessed."

Ahkmenrah's hand slowly drops, like he's forgotten it. His eyes keep darting between mine, brows pulling together, his mind whirring in that head.

"I am sorry that I upset you. I finally get to see you again, as alive and well as can be for a four thousand year old mummy—" I smirk, and his mouth draws up a bit at that, relaxing. "And I've got us fighting. I didn't mean to. If you don't want me to die with you the next time you kick it, then I won't."

It's his turn to breathe out a sigh of relief. Ahkmenrah leans down carefully, adjusting his shendyt, and puts his hand on my shoulder again.

"Thank you, Leon."

I shrug, careful not to dislodge that hand. "Someone's gotta stick around and make sure the world never forgets that it was lucky enough to have you exist here. Maybe I'll write a novel or something, keep your memory alive."

He chuckles, head dipping down as he bites his bottom lip in what I've come to recognize as his bashful smile. When he looks up again from under those pretty lashes, his hand slides up my shoulder to cup my face.

"Welcome home, Leon. I have missed you so, my friend."

Breaking out into a grin, I surge forward and envelop Ahkmenrah in another hug that he returns with enthusiasm. And, suddenly, the room breaks out in applause, and I jump.

"Woohoo, hurray, welcome back, yay!"

Still keeping one arm around Ahkmenrah, I turn just enough to see Tilly at the bottom of the stairs near Ahkmenrah's parents, clapping rapidly.

"I love a good happy ending. Way to not be dead and all that, Leon!"

I snort. Beside me, Ahkmenrah chuckles, and the warm air of his breath tickles across my ear. My whole body shivers.

"Are you cold?" He quickly asks, noticing. "You are wearing very little."

"Hey, height of Egyptian fashion here."

"Oh, believe me, I remember. It is not, however, very suitable for winter in the city of New York."

"Your things are still in your locker." Tilly chimes in, looking very pleased with herself. "I told McPhee not to give up on you, sir. I'm gonna give him a call right now, in fact, and tell him the great news."

I shoot her a smile, and stand. "Thank you, Tilly. How long was I gone?"

It's Theodore who answers, riding up on Texas with Sacagawea seated behind him, both of them smiling softly at me. "Almost a month, lad. And you were sorely missed. Welcome home, my boy."

"It's so good to see you again, Leon. I'm glad you're alright." Sacagawea adds.

"It's good to see you guys, too. And it's good to know I haven't been gone here nearly as long as I was there."

I grin at Ahkmenrah, and he nods, arm still around my shoulder. "Come, get changed into your proper uniform, and I will inform you of all that has transpired in your absence."

"What happened with Kahmunrah?"

"Shipped off again as soon as the sun went down and Tilly could pack him up—he caused quite an uproar during the night and it was made clear he had to go."

There's something—that dark look in Ahkmenrah's eyes—that quiets the air just a bit, and I wonder just what exactly happened after I fell through the gate. But then Ahkmenrah's grip on me tightens and he smiling, leading me away.

"Jedediah will be happy your back." Teddy muses as Ahkmenrah and I make our way to the break room. "I think he felt bad about not accepting you before. Octavius has certainly been giving him grief."

Laughing, I wave back at him over my shoulder. "Tell him no hard feelings!"

Pulling Ahkmenrah closer, I whisper playfully, "Jedediah and Octavius still just friends?"

Now it's his turn to laugh, hearing the air-quotes around the word 'friend.' "Yes, just friends. Though I have been recommending more LGBT friendly movies for them as of late—just in case."

"Just not Brokeback Mountain, please. It would probably send the wrong message."

"Really? I thought it was a cowboy romance—"

"Not a happy ending."

"Oh."

Ahkmenrah pushes open the door and we enter the break room together. It hasn't changed much—still a mess, with overflowing storage boxes, a rickety desk, and old lockers. As Tilly said, mine is just the way I left it. I pull out my uniform, still on it's hanger, and give it a nostalgic once over. It's clean, pressed, and smells a bit stuffy from disuse. It's good to see it again; it seems strange.

"Leon?"

I shoot Ahkmenrah a quick smile and start taking the jacket off the hanger. "Feels weird, being back."

"Well, I had four thousand years to adjust to the time change. I understand it must be rather jarring for you, having only walked through a door to a different era."

"And abruptly having my memories back."

"I wondered about that."

"There was . . . something between then and now. Not so much time as . . . awareness? Mostly just falling. It was difficult—both times—to find you again, but I could feel a sort of pull, and I fought to follow it."

I obviously don't have extra underwear stashed in the locker, so I keep my undergarments while shedding the rest of my Egyptian wardrobe. Folding it neatly, I place it in the locker. I'll be keeping the outfit, certainly. It's associated with some good memories.

"It's hard to believe . . . " Ahkmenrah trails off, and I pause, slacks in hand, and turn back to him.

He's standing by the closed door, positioned as though he'd been looking away to give me privacy, but now he's angled back, watching. His face looks frozen, gaze both intensely locked on me and yet far away.

"It's only been a month." I try to offer comfort. It sounds pathetic, even to me.

He takes a deep, steadying breath, and shrugs. "A month since I've seen Leon. Four thousand years since I've seen Mau. And yet here you are. Both of you—one in the same."

I smirk. "And to think of all that emotional guilt you went through confusing me with myself."

His laugh is breathy, still half distracted—lost in whatever thoughts are whirring around in his head, making him look so . . . sad.

I step towards him, unconcerned with my state of undress. "What's wrong, Ahkmenrah?"

His brow furrows, and he asks quietly, "Are you real? Are you really here?"

The distance between us, I close, and grab his hand gently, bringing it up to my cheek. "Feel real enough?"

His thumb strokes lightly along my jaw, up and down. His voice is thick when he speaks again. "I'd thought I'd lost you. Lost my best friend—again. I mourned you so."

My palm stays against the back of his hand. "And I you."

His hand moves down, settles against the pulse in my neck. I wonder if he can feel it speeding up beneath the skin at his touch. It's hard enough to breathe evenly with him this close.

"Did you mean what you said?" He asks me. Neither one of us is looking at the other now. "About thinking yourself unworthy? Wanting to be with me, even in death? About . . . me being beautiful to you?"

I shake my head, unable to stop the grin that slides into place. "Beautiful _to me_. Like it's just my opinion. I think you being beautiful is a well established fact."

My eyes flicker to his face, and he's got that bashful smile again, biting his bottom lip. Looking at me from under those lashes.

"But yes," I continue. "I meant every word."

His eyes dart between mine as the smile begins to fall, and I wonder if I've upset him. Should I apologize? But then he swallows, and leans in.

My brain stutters to a halt. There is no thought—there can be no thought, not when every system in me is being overloaded. All focus is on the sensations of him—the feel, the taste, the scent, the movement.

Ahkmenrah. Ahkmenrah. Ahkmenrah.

It's shorter than I'd like. He pulls away enough to look at me again, to gauge my reaction. He doesn't have to wait long.

"Please tell me we can do that again."

He smiles. "That pleased you?"

Did he have to phrase it like _that_? He's been around long enough to realize how sexual that sounds, right? Mercy.

"You should really voice your thoughts more often," he says after a moment. "I never know what you are thinking."

"Good things." I reply quickly. "Very good things."

His eyes move between mine. "Then we are of one mind here?"

One mind? Wouldn't mind being of one body. I am very aware that I'm practically naked right now. I need to back up, away from him, get some distance, perspective.

There is no way I'm backing up.

My heart is pounding, his breath is ghosting over my face, and all I want is to dip in a kiss him again. So, so much.

"I should probably get dressed." My words are airy, breathless.

Ahkmenrah snickers. "I think you look good like this."

A thought occurs to my, and the air in my throat catches audibly. "If this is four-thousand years of pent up sexual frustration, we should probably get a real room first."

Sputtering, Ahkmenrah backs away, doubling over with laughter. "Leon, you are absolutely ridiculous."

"Eh, it was probably too much to hope for that you didn't jump someone as soon as you got out of that sarcophagus, huh?"

"Stop that!"

"Now, there's my Pharaoh—barking orders. Please tell me you are this assertive in the bedroom, because that is so hot—"

"You—" He's moving back forward, closing the space between, cutting off my words and leaves barely inches of empty air. "Need to stop talking now before I actually answer that question. Thoroughly."

My answering "yes" is stuttering and low, straight from the gut.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, my Pharaoh."

"Very good. Now put your clothes on."

I literally whine, backing away slowly, unable to resist his command but dying not to leave him. "Telling me to put my clothes _on_ should not be that freaking sexy. You have a talent, my Pharaoh."

"And you are such a responsive submissive that I almost can't wait to get a full night alone with you far from the prying eyes and sensitive ears of the masses. I have four-thousand years of collected sexual knowledge from several countries and cultures and I fully intend to use _all_ of it."

With a crash that sounds way louder in the charged silence than it should, I back right into the lockers, swallowing hard and not breaking eye contact. I get a great deal of satisfaction out of the equally heavy look Ahkmenrah is returning me, a bit less composed than his voice. We both wait, silent, for several seconds.

"This got very sexual very, very fast."

Ahkmenrah chuckles, then clears his throat, finally looking away again. "Yes, I suppose that did progress . . . rather quickly. I do apologize. I missed you a great deal, Leon. Mau. And I . . . I should let you get dressed."

He steps out, quickly, before I can react. Will he be there when I step out? Please, please let him be just waiting outside for me. I have no idea what just happened. Hot and heavy collapsed and I don't know where we stand.

I tug the pants on as quickly as I can, throwing on the jacket and zipping it as I vaguely recall modern day expectations of decency, and don't even bother to check and see if I have shoes stashed in my locker. I'm out the door, and he's there, standing a bit too stiffly. He nods at me as I stare at him.

He straightens up a bit, as though he has something important to say, so I wait.

"I asked you, earlier, if we were of one mind. What I meant was," he pauses, meeting my eyes, head dipped with the slightest stutter on his lips, "Are you in love with me as well?"

'As well' echoes over and over again in my head. 'As well'. My face breaks out into the largest smile I'm capable, stretching my lips and hurting my cheeks.

"You're in love with me, too." I almost gasp it, joyous.

His lips hitch up, eyes going bright. "You answer me first."

"I just did."

"Be more clear."

"I love you." It's like my whole body deflates at finally saying it out loud, every stress fading away as my muscles melt, shoulders sink, all tension gone and everything right. "I am in love with you. Mercy, I had amnesia and fell in love with you _again._ "

Ahkmenrah looks taller now, standing with confidence, and takes a step towards me. "I had no amnesia. I had only the memories of a love I had barely had time to recognize before the chance was taken from me, and the fear I was projecting those feelings onto another. And yet it ends the same—falling in love with the same person all over again. And living with that loss, knowing I had not acted. Twice. Not this time. Leon Ward, Mau, whoever you have been, are, or may become, I—Ahkmenrah, Forth King of the Forth King, Ruler of the Land of My Fathers—love you, always and in all forms, for every life we have ever had and ever will. You are my soul's mate, my other half, and I will not allow us to go another second without making that known."

It's a grand gesture, making my heart race. I have no words for what he's said to me, what his speech has done to me. I try, and it only hurts, my throat clenching shut, my eyes burning. Instead, I give up, and sink to my knees.

Holding his gaze with all the intensity in me—all my love, my devotion, everything I am—I open my mouth and force out slowly, emphasizing every word, "I. Am. Yours."

Every "I"—Leon, Mau, who or whatever came before and comes next. Am—constantly, always, absolutely, a constant state, my whole existence. His, alone, wholly, completely, no matter what, no compromises, forever.

Like he can hear it all from those little words—not enough, they just aren't enough, but there's no other way, I can find nothing else to say it with—he kneels down with me, never looking away, reaching out and threads trembling fingers around the back of my neck, and pulls our foreheads together, pressing us so tightly it's painful, and dull, throbbing ache that fits strangely with the mood.

He whispers "And I, yours" before he kisses me.

* * *

 **Author's Notes: Leon and Ahkmenrah's relationship-romantic? I hope so (I worked hard on it). Unhealthy? . . . yeaaaaaaaah. This is a work of fiction, though, so I'm allowed some wiggle room, right? . . . right? Aaaaaanyway . . .**

 **In case anyone cares, Leon's tendency to stop midsentence in Egyptian and start over is because his vocabulary isn't extremely large, and he can't find the right words for things so he rephrases. Sometimes Ahkmenrah will remember this and shorten his sentences for him to make it easier.**

 **Honestly, I wish I could have done more with this. I accomplished everything I set out to, but so many other little details got discussed in the making of this story that didn't get into the final product, like what happened with Leon's college buddies, Jedediah and Octavius having their own little romance, Larry maybe dropping by for a visit and Leon getting territorial, Leon actually officially coming out to the exhibits (Ahkmenrah especially), the fact that Leon is adopted, has a great fear of water, and tends to nap in weird places. Not to mention more detailed tellings of most of Mau's time in Egypt, including Ahkmenrah's half sister and all the trouble she caused, Mau making a fool of himself trying to train with Ahkmenrah's REAL bodyguards, Mau actually getting out of the palace for a bit and seeing the city, his short stay at the temple before he moved into the palace, and the fact that Mau got along well with Kahmunrah, which only caused more contention between the brothers since Kahmunrah wanted Mau as his servant instead. Fleshing out this world was so much fun!**


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